


The Dreams We Hide

by Xenobotanist



Series: Secrets [1]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Angst and Feels, Episode: s02e22 The Wire, Hot Chocolate, Introspection, M/M, Near Death Experiences, POV Elim Garak, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:08:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23742814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xenobotanist/pseuds/Xenobotanist
Summary: A couple of scenes set during The Wire, that might have happened.
Relationships: Julian Bashir & Elim Garak
Series: Secrets [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1857130
Comments: 12
Kudos: 41





	1. Hot Cocoa

Garak was sitting up in his bed, trying not to glare at the machines surrounding him, monitoring his health. “I would be eternally grateful for a raktajino. Or even one of those dreadful Federation coffees.” He tried to look pitiful as he begged Julian for something—anything—to take the edge off.

“I’m afraid caffeine is not an option right now.” The young medical officer paused in thought, then his eyes lit up. “But! I might know the next-best thing.” He headed for the replicator. “Hot cocoa with… 500 mg cinnamon and…200 mg cloves.” His foot tapped as the mug materialized. He lifted it gingerly, brought it up to his face and breathed in the steam, closing his eyes. He grinned in appreciation. “Perfect.” He paced over to Garak, and his smile faltered. “At least, I hope so. You see, chocolate triggers the release of four neurotransmitters in the human brain: dopamine, serotonin, oxytocin, and endorphins. Maybe it can stimulate something similar in the Cardassian brain.” He cautiously surrendered the cup to Garak.

Despite the pleasant smell filling the room, Garak accepted the offering with reluctance. It smelled of…too many memories. The brown mussok flowers that grew in the dunes. The sunset behind Tolan’s shed. Palandine’s neck just beneath her hair line. He closed his eyes, trying to shut out the intruding images. When he opened them, Bashir was watching him warily. No doubt monitoring his breathing, his pupils, his skin color. Sometimes being near the doctor felt like being dissected.

Before partaking in the beverage, he retreated to old habits, gathering information. “Those neurotransmitters in the human brain, what are they for?” He brought the mug up to his nose and inhaled. It seemed that even the scent was causing his body to form some sort of response.

Bashir looked distinctly uncomfortable, which was intriguing. “Well, you see, endorphins are feel-good hormones; they increase feelings of pleasure and decrease pain perception. Oxytocin has the reputation for being the, uh, um, love hormone.” He swallowed, then quickly followed up with, “And dopamine and serotonin facilitate the sending of messages between nerve cells in the body and brain. They can improve mood and performance, which also contribute to a feeling of well-being.”

Garak felt mildly alarmed. “Doctor, are you so sure I should be consuming this? It sounds like a veritable cocktail of artificial stimulants, possibly even more dangerous than caffeine at this time.”  
Bashir sat on the arm of his chair, facing Garak. He braced his hands on his thighs. “Well, it’s not really dangerous. Chocolate only contains small amounts of the chemicals that cause those signals. Many people consume it for the flavor alone.”

“And the other ingredients that you added? Cinnamon and clove?” He couldn’t shake the feeling that there had to be more than Bashir was letting on.

The doctor blushed a little, looking down. “I just thought you might like them. Despite claiming that you are just plain and simple Garak, you seem like someone who might appreciate a little…spice.” He said the last part quietly and once again looked less than sure of himself. For someone who exuded confidence most days, he had a way of looking vulnerable in the tailor’s presence. It was endearing. Too much so.

But he did seem genuine. Garak gave in and took an experimental sip of the hot cocoa. It wasn’t nearly as hot as he would have liked, but the taste…the flavor was exquisite. Garak was sure he could already feel his own neurotransmitters firing off indiscriminately. Because really, it tasted the way he thought Julian might. Warm and sweet, rich and exotic and with a hint of, yes, spice. Comforting and arousing all in one. The tightness in his chest constricted further, and he felt his muscles clench.

Bashir was standing next to him immediately. “Garak? Garak? What’s wrong? What happened?” He was already grabbing the tricorder and taking readings. His proximity was intoxicating, and it took all he had not to lean into the younger man’s heat, breathe in his scent, abandon all restraint.

The sudden onslaught of a new headache gripped his head in a vice, saving him from any colossal missteps. Julian took the mug from his hands and placed it aside, then helped him back into a reclining position. His hands were gentle and solicitous, and if Garak hadn’t been in so much pain he would have cried. His eyes were closed, but he could feel his hair being brushed back from his forehead. He found himself wishing that those hands were wrapped around his head, holding the warmth in and keeping the bright lights and cold air at bay. His companion was so much more of a balm than any medicine they had tried so far. But he couldn’t say that. What would Bashir think? How could he understand that simply walking into a room made it feel like a glimpse of sun had peeked into the station? That his dusky skin recalled the sands just outside of Lakarian City?

He couldn’t know. He mustn’t ever know. Sentiment was not a weakness Garak could afford, and he was certain that it was a weakness of the medical officer as well.

He felt a pressure against his neck, that infernal hypospray. “This will help you sleep through the worst of the pain. Rest, please, Garak.” He didn’t want to sleep, to be left inside his own head. But a part of him was grateful, too, because maybe then he wouldn’t be so aware of the too-gentle human by his side. As he slipped away, he thought he felt soft skin slide into his hand, gripping him, rubbing tenderly. It might have been a hallucination.


	2. Phoenix

He woke sometime during the night, and was surprised to see Bashir busy on his padd. Didn’t the boy ever sleep? He appeared to be…drawing? Whatever it was, it was poorly executed. The doctor might have a brilliant mind, but his artistic skills were lacking. It might be an animal; it seemed to have a…head? And large flaps coming out from the sides. The hand stalled as its owner realized he was being watched. The doctor ducked his head in embarrassment.

“I was trying to make a phoenix. But it isn’t coming out how I hoped. It’s dreadful, isn’t it?”

Abysmal. But Garak wasn’t much of an artist himself (beyond textiles), so he refrained from criticism. “What is a phoenix?” His head still hurt, and his neck had a tight line of sharp pain extending down the right side, possibly from sleeping in an uncomfortable position.

Bashir sat up and set the padd aside. “The phoenix is a _fascinating_ mythical creature from Earth. It’s a bird, of sorts, who dies in flames and is reborn from the ashes. And get this, nearly every civilization on Earth had their own phoenix myth. Despite most of them not even having contact with one another!”

Garak remembered that humans invented all sorts of creatures out of their own heads. He didn’t understand why, seeing as their planet was already covered in all manners of wondrous organisms, many of whom seemed to defy logic in the first place. He knew that it was his turn to speak, but his brain—or the medicine—was making it hard to think. He opened his mouth, shut it, and shook his head, sighing.

Bashir looked concerned, but continued on. “I like the phoenix, because it’s a symbol of rebirth. It’s the end of an old life and the beginning of a new one.” That caught Garak’s attention. “My father introduced the concept of the phoenix to me when I was a child, explaining that…” He trailed off, and his face clouded over. “Well, I didn’t come to appreciate it until I was older. I realized that the idea of rebirth can be applicable in many situations, even from one day to the next. If you have a bad day, you can just let it fall away and begin again the next morning. I thought…” He stood up and paced for a second. “It reminds me of you. Of your… situation. You’re going through a terrible ordeal, but when it’s over, you can be a new man. You can start over. You can make things better.” He was agitated now, pacing back and forth, and Garak thought uncharitably that it ought to be _him_ stalking around the room, not the doctor.

But when those eyes appealed to him, beseeching, begging him to see the other man’s point of view, the thought drifted away. All Julian wanted was for him to recover, which was somewhat appreciated, even if he didn't understand why the human cared so much.


	3. Dreaming

_He was climbing a sand dune, but someone had carved stones stairs into it. He didn’t recognize the landscape. Someone was waiting for him at the top. As he drew closer, he recognized the face._

_“Where are we?” he asked._

_“My ancestors are from here.”_

_“And where on Earth is that?”_

_The figure smiled. “You don’t know? Some spy you are.”_

_Ops was empty. The lights were too dim even for Cardassian eyes. The sound of laughter echoed around him, soft and gravelly. Mocking. A shadow on the transporter pad. Dukat. Was it the father or the son? Before he could tell, the body dematerialized._

_He cut through the cloth. It was a deep yellow-gold, with silver diamonds. Mila was watching him, eyes disapproving._

_“How did you end up a tailor? We worked so hard to make you into the perfect citizen of Cardassia. Tain gave you everything, he brought you up from a service class nobody to his right-hand man, and now look at you.”_

_He continued opening and closing the scissors, splitting the fabric. It was wrapped around Mila’s arm now, and the scissors sliced into her skin._

_“You are ungrateful. You have disgraced me, disgraced Tain, disgraced Cardassia.” The blood dripped from her arm and left droplets on the stone beneath her. They were the same deep red that represented the Union. The blood of the Endless Sacrifice. A sacrifice that he had not been able to make._

_He expanded until he was as large as the sky. He was the sky. He lay draped upon the desert. The sand undulated beneath him like the sea, the ground groaning as tectonic forces collided. He dug his hands into the earth, finding a texture as soft as skin, heated by the sun. A drum was beating against his chest, or maybe it was a heartbeat. The hill in front of him heaved and molded into Julian’s face, head thrown back, eyes shut, teeth delicately biting his lip. Arms rose on either side of him, wrapping around his back and dragging him down, down, down into the molten core, and then into blackness._


	4. Surrender

He was dying. The nurse’s face had said everything. But for the moment, he felt a curious sense of serenity. Bashir had fallen asleep with the chair up against the bed, head resting mere centimeters away, hair nearly close enough to touch if he just slid over. One arm was draped alongside his own, hand near his shoulder.

It didn’t matter if Garak died. He hadn’t much to live for anyway. But based on his actions thus far, perhaps the doctor would miss him. He wasn’t sure if the agony in his chest was real or imaginary as he pictured the man sitting in the replimat, dining alone. He’d find a replacement soon enough, surely.

Black fog seemed to be seeping into the edges of his vision. He blinked to clear it, surprised to see droplets on the edges of his eyelashes. He hadn’t even realized he was crying. He longed to reach for Julian’s arm and pull it across his chest, for one final hug before surrendering to oblivion. Just one gesture of physical comfort. It might wake the doctor, though, and that wouldn’t do.

He’d witnessed enough deaths to recognize the rare gift of a few final moments of clarity at the end. He pushed past the pain to lever himself up and onto his side, looking down at the countenance that he may never see again. No one need ever know. And even if someone found out, what would it matter? Dead men are beyond the whispers that pass on the wind. He leaned down, as silent as he could ever be, and placed his lips to Julian’s forehead.

As he lifted back up, a single tear dropped from his chin and into the nest of hair. He imagined it seeping into the skin, becoming a part of him, a piece of Garak remaining with him from now until eternity.

His strength was gone. He collapsed back, his ears ringing. There was a weight pressing down on him, and he couldn’t draw in a breath. The room around him faded, but he could see the rising of the red Cardassian sun…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to stick to the truth of the show, so no, Garak didn't die. He just thought he was going to. Cheers!


End file.
